And You Dream of the Justice For Which You Fought
by RocksCanFly
Summary: A wise man once said, "No man is justified in doing evil on the ground of expediency." There is blood on your hands, and your dreams are all of Atlantis.


You find yourself here every night.

There is a girl with skin like an eel who wraps her small hands around your wrist and draws your hand up to fit the finger shaped bruises around her throat. Her eyes are all black and her sharp teeth gleam at you through the murk as she grins. _Traitor_, she laughs. _Murderer_, she croons in your ear, one clawed hand brushing you gills in a parody of a caress. _Kin-killer. __**Half-blood.**_

Your hand tightens around her small throat, digging viciously into her gills. A sick blue glow lights the gloom of the water, and you pry desperately at your own fingers with your free hand as her eyes light up with electricity. She goes rigid.

She was eel-kin. It takes a long time for her to die, longer than it should have. You should have slit her throat instead, should have bashed her small head in, broken her fragile little grey skull. It would have been kinder.

When you finally free your hand from around her neck you see the shape of your hand burned into her skin. Around the burn her skin flakes like charred paper, fluttering in the water. Her eyes are still open, her body has gone limp. She drifts listlessly, like a doll.

She still smiles, every tooth an accusation._ Murderer_, her dead lips whisper softly.

Your try to escape from her, kicking out and away from the body. A small hand grabs you ankle.

She pulls you down, down to the sea floor.

Like always, the rest are waiting.

You're surrounded by crumbled buildings, hospital towers and the broken grand spires of emissaries. Some have char marks on their white and pink marble and sandstone. All of them leak red into the water, a brilliant cloud in the soft blue of the sea.

Every building was grand. Every building was important. Every one of them was a target, their destruction playing a key role in Manta's plans to destabilize Atlantis and destroy Orin.

Every one of them is your handiwork, the price you exacted on your people.

She drags you to the center of the wreckage. Shadows shift as she pulls you past. You glimpse blank eyes and grasping hands, grayed and gory bodies waiting in the ruins.

She pulls you to a clearing, a circular courtyard of grey stone. At the center is a set of crowded white marble benches and a lone black stone pillar. Men in wrecked armor take you from her, cuff your wrists in the manacles handing from column. One is missing half his skull, the other has a neat hole punched through his chest. Their hands are firm but gentle as they secure you in the chains.

You do not struggle anymore. You are here for justice. You will have it.

At the bench sit more of your victims. A stately woman with the blue sash and gold trim of a judge presides. The smile on her neck is a brilliant red contrast to her grim mouth. Silence reigns on the benches. You can feel more than see the shadows pressing in on the circular courtyard, can hear their unintelligible whispers.

Not every face is one you can recognize. You have been busy, and underwater explosives are effective tools. Not every death was personal.

The woman raises her arms in a sweeping gesture. Silence falls. The trial begins.

The accused, Kaldur'ahm of Shayeris. The prosecution, The Kingdom of Atlantis.

No charges are read. The accusations and evidence are there around you, in the gaping holes and wounds, in the crushed bodies and charred flesh of the jury.

The woman's voice is clear and emotionless as she announces- _At this time we will allow for the defense of the accused. Does anyone speak for this man?_

You can see Garth sitting on the front bench. His body is unmarred, his eyes sad. He stares into you, beyond you. _Tula_, he mouths silently. _Tula, Tula, Tula. What would she say could she see you now Kaldur'ahm? _

Also on the benches sit other friends from the academy and your childhood unit. Most of them are unharmed. A few of them are not. All of them stare blankly into you, silent.

The woman gestures to you. _Does the accused have anything to say in his own defense?_

You open your mouth, attempt to explain. Your lips form words, but nothing comes out. The shadows press in closer. The girl from earlier sits on the very end of the front bench. She licks her lips, grins. Draws one small hand to wrap tightly around her own neck, and her shoulders shake in silent laughter.

You close your mouth, your eyes. Swallow.

_I am sorry,_ you whisper, and it comes out hollow and dead and too little too late._ I am sorry, I am sorry, I am sorry._

You do not try to ask for forgiveness. You know the working of things, of this dream, by now. You cannot ask such a boon from the dead.

The woman nods solemnly. She says, not unkindly but gently like a teacher admonishing a pupil, _You know well, Kaldur'ahm, how much weight regret carries in this court._

She turns to face the jury.

_What say you_, she addresses the blank and bloodied masses on the benches and in the shadows that circle the court.

_How do you find this man, former soldier and vassal of his Highness King Orin, son of Sha'lain'a of Shayeris and the villain Black Manta, formerly known as the hero Aqualad? _

_He is charged with murder, acts of terror, and treason. Does the jury find Kaldur'ahm of Shayeris innocent, or does it find him guilty?_

As one great echoing voice they reply, _We the people of Atlantis find Kaldur'ahm of Shayeris guilty on all counts. We find him traitor to Atlantis is actions, in mind, and in heart._

The woman turns to you. No triumph gleams in her eye. The shadows press in closer. The world is silent. Your wrists have begun to ache.

After a long moment she gestures to the guards still standing beside you. As they release your arms, she pronounces, _This court finds you guilty on all charges, Kaldur'ahm of Shayeris. The sentence for such crimes is death. Do you accept judgment?_

You look into her eyes for a long moment. You want desperately to explain. But as you search her eyes, and then the eyes of the crowd, you know that explanations aren't enough. There can be no explanation, no excuse for the things you have done. You remember, fleetingly, the feeling of the girl's throat as it burned beneath your hand.

You press your arms to your sides, clasp your hands behind your back. You bow your head. You will not struggle. For all of your life you have fought for the sake of this thing called justice.

Now you will face it.

_I accept,_ you say, and as one the jury and the woman and Garth and the girl with her gleaming smile and the shadows rush forth. You feel a thousand hands upon your flesh. The taste of iron fills your mouth as you open wide to scream.

And in the last fleeting moments of your dream you know again what it is to drown.


End file.
